when morning came wa

l no

ssed

essa

apo

hest. He yawned and blinked, the same wide eyes that belonged to his father, only softer, gentler, untouched by arroga

ound that kept me tethered to reality. My mind had gone over everything a thousa

t had felt like freedom, a convenience. But now, that same convenience had become a cage. I open

th

pers. Not enough to feed t

r. My hands trembled as I touched the cold metal, imagining the meals I

lling Luci

u have dialed

in my head, repea

t my chest, feeling the warmth of his tiny body, the steady pulse of his heart. I

was no

lf afloat. I thought about the modeling gigs, the acting jobs, the tiny pockets of incom

outrun. I had no money. No support. No plan. Just a newborn in my

r sounded louder. Every shadow in the apartment seemed to remind me of what I had lost. My son stirred again, yawning, cur

ear and exhaustion, that I would not allow my

rrying the weight o

the cracked window, and whispered, almost to myself,

swer

at long, lonely morning, I f

ce. And this child, my son,